silence fiction press

Natsu no Wakare (Summer’s Parting)

rrs — Tue, 14 Aug 2007 03:14:05 +0000

For A. Brown, J. Taylor & N. Whiteman

If it were another month
you might not disappear so
abruptly into Summer's grey sag:        

          Over the stubble stippled Kinki Plain
          while noon sewed wingtips
          to cornflower cloth        

          engines would trace a crossword
          of tidy exhaust
          in cryptic vectors.        

Then I could fill in the sky
with your names until the wind
muddled the solution        

long after the blue
blossoming of distance.

The Adventures of Two-Dimensional Surfaces (Part 2)

rrs — Tue, 17 Apr 2007 08:46:34 +0000

our reflections collide and
furiously intermingle
on the gritty pane of a late hour  

detached from selves
for shuddering moments
before disentangling  

into contrite shadows
that slip from the mirror
and back over discrete lives.

Sakasegawa

rrs — Tue, 02 Jan 2007 19:08:17 +0000

In the winter-bleached grass
lies a crooked whisper
and the moon, having made its kill
caws bold and fed
against the gathering
arid blue. 

The wind stands at attention
gripping a white pennant contrail
for the river
while morning birds briefly
rake the bones
then disappear
into the famine chill.

This Place Does Not Love Us

rrs — Thu, 16 Nov 2006 15:18:46 +0000

come
take off your toil,
unlace the lips
of your uniform's smile 

i will scrub out
the sighs
and dry your sodden heart
on the line, just 

come
to this room i keep warm
it has no roof, no walls
but these arms

Notes For The Construction Of … (abridged)

rrs — Fri, 10 Nov 2006 08:50:30 +0000

Neither of them were fond of the ceiling lamp with its abrasive bright that disclosed every secret in the room. [With gentle, consistent pressure, unravel a handful of paper clips and tease them into hooks and straight wires.] One day she removed the offending globe and hung a mobile of hot-air balloons from the toothless socket. [Tug slowly at the frayed borders of jeans and old shirts to liberate the longest threads.] The paper vessels rotated on their strings while their odd balance on a slender network of axes towed them around fickle orbits. [Tie the hooks to the shorter threads, then hang them from the main structure of wires. Save the longest thread to suspend the complete frame from an appropriate height.] Lying in bed, he would watch them spin; the breath of two bodies exerting pressure, a new gravity to propel their flight paths. [Carefully apply tweezers to pluck tears as they begin to brim.] They were the last evidence of her, soon deflated and sealed in a material memoir of co-habitation divided, then flown to chapters beyond his subscription [Using the hooks, pierce each tear at its origin, balancing the heaviest against the quieter] and each night after his monologue of breath was accompanied by a glittering pirouette.

By The Flyscreen

rrs — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 11:07:57 +0000

after the last
of the cutlery rattles
the sink drains
and the heater's thrum
undisguises 

                          limbs in retreat drawn
                          across the bedsheets,
                          a barricade of tears
                          cemented with silence 

and by the flyscreen
she starts
                 at not footsteps
but rain
falling twice through the leaves

, Such As When…

rrs — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 10:17:20 +0000

                                     the spring sun pierces
the heart and i
                                            pull                  it                    out
   with dumb fingers
                                       but
                                                      a piece           breaks
                              off 

           inside

Isolation Asides

rrs — Sun, 05 Nov 2006 16:20:18 +0000

1.
to the town
this key
is the sound of disappearing 

a slow blink ends
glass eye opens bright
and then another 

2.
the kettle demands
i soothe its screams 

i add a notch
to the calendar of cups 

the sink and i
share indifferent looks - 

both of us can wait 

3.
another sap
has been taken in
by the levitation act 

the spider's cheap trick
that pays his meals
which i know because
the sunshine whispered its workings 

i let him tether
his secret outside
in return
he doesn't involve the clothesline 

4.
bright closes
slow blink begins
a silvered surface stranger passes
to who the town and i
haven't spoken

Hey Mister!

rrs — Sun, 05 Nov 2006 16:16:49 +0000

hey mister flying breathing living
thing for who things are working out
quite well: there is delicious light and, of course,
your agility with which
you can outwit these loud clapping predators 

yes sir this evening was quite low,
the streetlights so few and high
but what blessings are open windows -
bright watt globes and even
perhaps if you stop to inspect
something on those tiles
something that big fleshy warm heathens
can't see
worth more attention than those fickle lights 

so who could be blamed for ignoring
a five limbed shade wandering above
...tasty...darker...wind... 

(dust)

Wait Is A Cruel Country

rrs — Sun, 05 Nov 2006 15:55:58 +0000

Wait is a cruel country,
an island between the flight paths
of other people's itineraries
where sleep has cut its feet again
on scree memories - 

the spill of detritus and extrapolations
becomes an anxious bed
to be lying in
wait
ing.